


hero

by curiositykilled



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hero Worship, M/M, Self-Hatred, supportive lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: “You used to be my hero, you know. It took a long time to let go of that image.”Lance says it with a little laugh, head tilted towards the stars. Shiro turns his gaze away. He’d ask why they didn’t send Keith, but he figures he knows. This is his punishment. Turning a weapon on a guest isn’t very paladin-like — isn’t very heroic.“Bet I helped with that,” he says.





	hero

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to [ Onions](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/) for the backstory. Also pretty sure a good bit of Shiro's characterization comes from the uliro discord 
> 
> Originally posted to [ my tumblr](http://curiosity-killed.tumblr.com/post/162897043135/full-credit-to-butteredonions-for-the-inspiration)

“You used to be my hero, you know. It took a long time to let go of that image.”

Lance says it with a little laugh, head tilted towards the stars. Shiro turns his gaze away. He’d ask why they didn’t send Keith, but he figures he knows. This is his punishment. Turning a weapon on a guest isn’t very paladin-like — isn’t very heroic.

“Bet I helped with that,” he says.

There’s a beat where Lance doesn’t agree but doesn’t refute him. Shiro doesn’t look up, doesn’t budge his gaze from where it’s locked on his fingers digging into his prosthesis. It doesn’t hurt, even though he knows the pressure would be enough to bruise a regular arm - a human arm.

“We got the news in the middle of class,” Lance continues finally. “I was in modern history, and suddenly, all the screens cut out to Iverson giving a news conference. You’ve never seen that many eighteen year-olds bawling.”

Shiro tightens his grip a little until it starts to hurt where his thumb presses into the metal. He holds it there.

“I mean, you were the poster boy of the Garrison” - Lance laughs a little - “ _literally_. Couldn’t walk anywhere without seeing your picture.”

This is something Shiro remembers: a freshly-ironed uniform, hair combed neat as it would go, keeping a serious expression as the shutter clicked and clicked and clicked. He’d wanted to laugh at it all, at the spectacle they were making of him. They’d call him “Captain Shirogane” and he’d nearly forget to respond. He’d felt like an actor in a soap opera the whole time, but one everyone but him thought would win an Emmy.

“They let us out of class early, and a ton of people went home,” Lance said, “but some of us just…didn’t know what to do. It didn’t really seem real, like we’d get in trouble for being out in the halls even though we knew we wouldn’t.

We wound up in the senior lounge. Only time I got to go in there without sneaking around. I think everyone was still in shock. We just kind of piled into a circle and sat there a long time.

And then — we started telling stories.”

He pauses and there’s a rustle to Shiro’s right, the sound of fabric moving against the paladin armor. He’s become well-acquainted with the sound over the past few years.

“Alyssa Brown started,” Lance says. “She told this story about how Dr. Holt had found her crying during finals one time and just spent an hour telling her awful dad jokes and cheering her up before walking her back to her dorm. After that, pretty much everyone had a story about Dr. Holt or Matt or you. No one wanted to stay silent. It was like — if we kept telling stories about you, maybe you’d still be alive.”

Lance quiets for a moment, and Shiro pulls his arms tighter around his knees. His chest is uncomfortably tight, but for once, it’s not the suffocating press of panic. It’s something else, something pricking up his throat and making it hard to swallow. He bites down on the inside of his lip.

“I bet you don’t know which one I told,” Lance says. “You probably didn’t remember it, before.“

Shiro frowns. There’s so much he has forgotten, so much pressed down and compartmentalized by the past five years. Since Kerberos, his life has been a marathon without water stops. Fighting in the arena became fighting Zarkon became fighting Lotor. The human brain isn’t meant to keep up with that kind of trauma, not without letting a few things go.

“It was my first year at the Garrison,” Lance says, “and I was this gawky, chicken-shit little cadet. I was awful at the simulator — just constantly blew us up on every run. So, I’d sneak in and practice at night. There are probably hundreds of logs in the history from me.

But, one night, I ran into you. Also literally. I wasn’t looking and you weren’t looking and bam! right into those perfect pecs.”

Shiro’s frown deepens.

“I figured,  _fuck, Takashi Shirogane?_   _I am so screwed_. You were probably doing some hall monitor shit and here I was messing around after dark. There was no way I was going to get away with it,” Lance continues, “but then, you just  _grin_  and ask if I can keep a secret.”

Lance pauses again and, out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees his hand flop into view as if Lance has spread open his arms.

“ _‘Can you keep a secret?_ ’ For Takashi Shirogane? You could’ve asked me to be your alibi for a murder and I probably would’ve said yes,” he scoffs. “I mean, really.

Anyway, the next day rolls around, and I get to the sim room, _‘Cadet Kogane, please begin’_ yada yada. You know the drill. But there was a glitch or something because every time someone screwed up — even the tiniest things like forgetting a seatbelt — it just started pouring down confetti.

And everyone’s cracking up. I mean, we were trying not to because Commander Mistry would’ve whooped our asses but — c’mon. The entire simulator screen was covered in freaking rainbow confetti.

But me. I was so stunned. Because I knew you had to have been involved. I mean, there was no way you weren’t. But you were you - first in your class, one of the youngest pilots in the Garrison fleet - you didn’t just screw around like that. That was for dumbasses like me.”

Lance’s hand pulls out of view. The soles of his boots squeak across the floor, though Shiro can’t tell what position he’s shifting to or from.

“But everything was pointing to that, and I’m an idiot but I’m not that dumb,” he says. “I think I kinda fell in love with you, then. You’d always seemed so perfect before, but now that I knew you were a little shit, too? Man, I was a goner.”

He laughs as he says it, as if heedless of the way his words make Shiro’s heart lurch. It’s not literal, he reminds himself. Hero-worship - a crush - is different. After all, isn’t that Lance’s point? Isn’t the whole story about how Shiro isn’t that person anymore? isn’t that gilded pilot gifted with every grace?

“For the longest time, that’s who you were to me,” Lance says. “A role model, yeah, but also…my hero. I wanted to be you so badly. I thought that, maybe, if I could just do what you did, I’d be less insecure and annoying and…me.”

He lets out a gusty sigh, like he’s been holding his breath. Shiro ducks his head a little and tries not to sniff even though he can feel his nose started to run. The tears are easier to blink back. He’s got plenty of practice.

“When we first got out here,” Lance says, “it got so much worse. I mean, there’s Keith with all his ridiculous giftedness and Pidge being a super sneaky genius and Hunk being brilliant — and you get back from a year of being held prisoner by a super freaky space tyrant and you’re still kicking ass and taking names and putting all of us to shame? What the hell! So not fair.”

Shiro sniffs, then, right as Lance stops talking. He hates himself a little for the timing. There’s an audible hesitation before Lance speaks.

“But then I got to know you, really know you,” Lance continues, voice gentling. “And I found out you’re a total snob about music and you’re terrible at video games and you’re an incredible dancer and a good leader. I found out that, impossible as it seemed, you’re human.”

His fingers ache with the pressure he’s exerting on the prosthesis, but Shiro doesn’t let up. His jaw trembles like a little kid’s, and he can feel tears leaking down his face and dripping off his chin. He knows he looks like an idiot: a full-grown man in armor, curled up and crying on the edge of the castle balcony.

He startles at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. It’s just a gentle pressure through the armor, a soft weight that wasn’t there before. He jerks his head up before he can stop himself, survival instinct defeating pride in one fell swoop. Lance’s eyebrows curve up in the center, blue eyes wide.

“You’re human,” he repeats, “and you fuck up some times. Sometimes in ways you can’t control and some times in ways you can. You screw up. And it’s okay.”

A shudder runs through Shiro and he gasps out a quiet sob. He releases his prosthesis to scrub at his nose, as if he can hide it now.

“It’s okay, because no matter what you do, we’re going to love you,” Lance says. “God, Shiro, if you knew what you meant to each of us — you’re Keith’s only family, and you’re Pidge’s big brother, and you’re Hunk’s steadying rock. You mean so much to us, and you don’t even know it.”

The sobs come more quickly now, with briefer pauses in between. Shiro folds down on himself again, trying to contain them, but Lance tugs him gently. He falls more than intentionally moves into Lance’s side, and Lance wraps his arms around Shiro. Shiro can feel the warmth of Lance’s cheek seeping through the top of his hair.

“‘m not a hero,” Shiro mumbles.

Lance squeezes him briefly, a quick enough pulse Shiro can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

“You don’t have to be,” Lance says. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”

The tears have started to dry, but Shiro keeps his head tucked into the dark of Lance’s shoulder. The armor presses uncomfortably into his forehead and nose, but the warmth — the warmth is welcome.

“You used to be my hero,” Lance says, “but now? Now you’re my friend and leader and family. I might have been your alibi all those years ago, but now I’d know to stop you before it got that far because you’d never forgive yourself. I mean, I’d still totally do it for you. Just so we’re clear on that.”

Shiro hiccups a laugh and squeezes his left hand between them to wipe roughly at the tears still on his face.

“I had the biggest, fattest, most middle school crush on you while we were at the Garrison,” Lance says, voice teasing, “and that’s why you were my hero. Because I didn’t know you. I didn’t know that you wake up screaming some nights and that you cook as well as a five-year-old with an alien cookbook, and I didn’t know that you sing showtunes when you’re doing chores and that you snort when you laugh too hard.”

Lance’s hand moves up the armor to rest on the back of Shiro’s head, his thumb swiping gently along the grain. Shiro leans into his shoulder, bone-weary all of a sudden.

“But I know you now,” Lance says, “and I love you.”

Shiro lifts his head, and Lance’s hand slips forward to cup his jaw. Lance smiles a little, soft and small, and his thumb repeats the gentle stroke it had before, this time along Shiro’s cheekbone. It skims over the edge of his scar but doesn’t falter. His hand stills a moment and he starts to lean in. Shiro ducks his head away.

“No,” he moans. “Don’t kiss me, I’m gross.”

Lance laughs aloud, bright and full, and drops his head to Shiro’s shoulder. Through him, Shiro can feel Lance’s body shaking with laughter. He tries to fight back his own smile but fails, and the laughter shimmers through his body, too. His face is still puffy and hot, and he’s ninety-percent sure there’s snot dried on his upper lip, but the laughter doesn’t stop. He leans into Lance, cheek pressed to the side of Lance’s head, and grins like an idiot.

They stay there a little longer, tremors of laughter running through their bodies, until finally Lance straightens up.

“Okay, Gross,” he teases. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up and go to bed.”

Shiro lets Lance help him up, and he doesn’t release Lance’s hand once they’re standing. Their hands swing between them gently, swaying front to back a little with each step. The hallways are quiet as they walk, the guests gone and the rest of the team no doubt bedded down for the night.

“Lance?” Shiro says as they walk down the empty hallway.

Lance turns to him, corners of his lips turned up. Shiro squeezes his hand gently, one-two-three.

“I love you, too.“


End file.
